Strange Pairings
by mutive
Summary: Random kink meme fills that don't fit anywhere else.  In this installation, a man destroyed by magic and power is redeemed by the simple and mundane.
1. Culture Clash  Aeducan Loghain

**Culture Clash**

_Thanks to Prisoner_24601 for dealing with this when it was in is roughest form and to Sarah for the notes on dwarf culture!_

"I still don't understand why you didn't kill her," Obsidian Aeducan said as she walked next to Loghain.

They had gone through this before. "She's my daughter," Loghain said.

"How peculiar," Obsidian said. She looked up at him. "In my land, she wouldn't even have been part of your caste."

"I have no other children," Loghain said. They'd had this conversation before, too, and it was no less exasperating the second time around.

Obsidian shook her head. "Do you mean to tell me that you couldn't find someone to give you a son?" She turned to him. "I know that human customs are different. That you don't have noble-hunters, and that caste is determined in some completely illogical fashion. But your wife has been dead for how long?"

"Fifteen years."

"And you couldn't remarry? Or find another woman to give you children? Or do _something_ so that you'd have a spare, just in case something happened to Anora?"

Loghain would prefer not to know what Obsidian meant by 'something happened'. He had already heard how she had plotted against both of her brothers, and only been exiled after the younger double-crossed her before she could stab him in the back. "I loved my wife," he said. "So no, I did not remarry."

"Foolish humans," Obsidian said. "Most impractical." She stopped in front of him on the path, blocking him from moving forward. Her eyes scanned his face. "Are most humans like this?"

"Like what?"

"So foolishly sentimental."

Loghain almost started to laugh. Sentimentality was not a trait he generally associated with himself. He stopped himself. "Most would remarry. "

Obsidian nodded. "The production of heirs is important. One needs many strong swords in a noble household."

She did have something of a point there. Anora could use an ally at this time. But Celia had only given him one child, and by the time she had died, he had felt too old to begin again. There hadn't been time for the confusing and time consuming process of courtship and love.

"Would most humans also refuse to kill the only one who could stop them, just because she happened to be related to them?"

"Most humans would not kill their own daughter, no," Loghain said. The word "most" conveniently excluded Rendon Howe.

"Hmmm," Obsidian said, continuing along the path. "I'd been hoping to get a more realistic perspective on human customs from you. You see, I'd thought you'd be more practical than Alistair."

Loghain glowered at her. He was most definitely _not_ like his future son-in-law.

"You know," Obsidian said, cocking her head at him. "Sentimentality is why I never bedded him."

He did not want to hear about this dwarf's relationship, or lack thereof, with the idiot who was now engaged to his daughter.

"He seemed weak," Obsidian continued, when Loghain refused to speak. "Any relationship with him would be a disgrace to my household. " She looked at him appraisingly. "I had thought that you would be better. Alistair often spoke of how ruthless and cunning you were. And Anora is a tribute to Ferelden politics, a reformer as brilliant and cut-throat as my younger brother."

Loghain had no desire to discuss his daughter with this Warden, although he supposed that Obsidian's approval might mean much in gaining beneficial trade arrangements between their kingdoms. "Why would sleeping with Alistair reflect poorly on your household?" Loghain asked, attempting to change the subject.

"I had thought when he was around that there was the possibility of off-spring," Obsidian said. She glanced up at Loghain. "Of half-dwarfs. I hadn't realized that Grey Wardens tend to be sterile. If I had known that, I might have tried him out. Or the elf. There's a certain logic in denying yourself a small thing to get something of greater value later on. But no reason to refuse to do something that gives you pleasure if there will be no consequences."

Loghain disagreed. Just because one did not understand the consequences of an action did not mean that there were none. It was best to avoid pleasure, for pleasure's sake. He had learned that lesson long ago.

She gave him a sidelong glance. "Besides," Obsidian said. "I'm quite curious about human culture in all respects. I think that I'd like to study that aspect of it, too."

Loghain refused to respond to her with more than a grunt.

DA:O

Loghain supposed that it should not have surprised him when he turned towards the shore to find that Obsidian was watching him.

"What is it now?" he grunted, refusing to move from the deep water that he stood in. He wondered how much she had seen before he noticed her.

"Just curious," Obsidian said. Her eyes skimmed over his body. "The only other human male I've seen naked was Alistair. And not for long." She shook her head. "The silly boy ran off blushing as soon as he caught me at it."

"That's no way to get a girl," Loghain said, with a certain amusement. Obsidian had told him at length about Alistair's crush on her, a crush that seemed all the more peculiar considering how different the bastard prince's personality was from that of the dwarven princess.

"I know," Obsidian said, with a shake of her head. "If he weren't so shy, well…" She met Loghain's gaze with her own. "Dwarves are not so peculiar about such things, you know. Even between castes. " She paused for a long second, and Loghain wondered what she was plotting. At last she said, her voice taking on a softer tone, "I loved someone of the warrior caste, once."

Loghain was surprised to find himself somewhat uncomfortable with that knowledge. He suddenly wanted very much to get back into his clothing. "That is all very interesting," he said just to break the silence.

"More sad than interesting for me," Obsidian said with a small shrug. "He was exiled before I was, and remarried as soon as he got to the surface." She met his eye. "It hurt, but I do not blame him. It is foolish to waste time or to live a life with regrets."

Loghain found himself pondering what she meant by that as Obsidian turned her back on him and walked back to camp.

DA:O

She was, Loghain admitted to himself, something to watch in battle. Despite Obsidian's diminutive stature, she had enough strength to cut an ogre in two. She reminded him, somewhat, of Cauthrien and of Rowan. Of both of the beautiful warrior women that he had loved, despite that his feelings were never fully reciprocated by either.

He shook his head. Perhaps Obsidian was right in that emotion sometimes clouded his judgment. He had failed to win the Landsmeet because of a fear of Orlais that was considered irrational even by his own daughter; perhaps his feelings about his new commander were similarly illogical. Obsidian was strange, inhuman. But she was also intelligent, capable, and had succeeded in convincing the nobles of Ferelden to support her despite her alien nature.

She had been a worthy adversary, but was perhaps a worthy ally as well. As she returned from her kill, her armor splattered in blood, her green eyes sparkling, he found himself smiling. He let her take his hand, and lead him into Arl Eamon's castle, despite that he knew the battle against the darkspawn had only just begun.

DA:O

"So you've decided to die," Obsidian said, as she crept into Loghain's room late at night, long after he had refused Morrigan's offer. Though the words were harsh, the tone was curious. As though Obsidian could not determine why anyone would refuse the witch's aide.

"It's the wisest choice," Loghain said, turning to face her. She was wearing less than she usually did. A silken slip that clung to her curves, rather than her standard plate armor. She must have been getting ready for bed when Morrigan had found her. Still, her current dress suggested something different than the warrior he was accustomed to.

Obsidian pushed a small hand through her black hair, ruffling it so that it fell about her face in soft waves. "We can't be sure of that."

"No," Loghain said, sitting back on the bed. "But I would rather die than risk it. Besides, I have much to atone for."

"Hmph," Obsidian said, sitting down beside him. "You haven't really done that much that I would complain about. Poisoned a political rival. Allowed an ally to extract knowledge from opponents. Found a creative way of funding a war. I forgave Bhelen for far more." She leaned her head into him, the weight of it a gentle pressure on his arm.

"It still is not worth the risk. It is one life, versus the possibility of many."

Obsidian shifted against him. "You're right," she said. She moved again so that her entire body was pressed next to his. She was remarkably warm and soft, despite that he knew she was as strong as he was. Still, the warmth was a comfort. "And I respect that."

"Despite that you wanted me to do the ritual."

"I wanted to give you the choice. To let you consider every option available to us," Obsidian said. She placed a small hand on his thigh and squeezed it gently. "Besides, I'll admit that I'm not looking forward to death."

"I'll take the blow," Loghain said. He turned to look down at her. The flame of the lamp was reflected in her eyes.

"We'll decide who will when we face the demon, it if comes to that," Obsidian said. "Let Riordan kill the creature, if he can. He wants to, and Ferelden could use your help when she rebuilds after this war. If he falls, and both of us survive…well, then we can decide who dies. There is no need to discuss it until then. We have some time remaining. And who knows what will come? Most likely, all three of us will be dead in a few weeks' time. Best not to think of it."

No, it was best not to. There was a reason soldiers drank before battle.

The silence of the room hung between them. "Is that what you came here to say?" Loghain asked, to break the silence.

Obsidian shook her head. "I came here to apologize. About saying that you were like Alistair. You're not. I think that he would have chosen to live."

Loghain did not doubt that. "He is a young man," he said. It was both a compliment and a curse.

Obsidian nodded. "He is," she said. "But I'm not sure that he'd make this choice. Ever. He's a good man, but he has never been able to make the hard choices." She cleared her throat. "What I mean to say is that you're a better man than him. At least in my opinion. For what little that means."

It had begun to mean more to Loghain than he would have thought. "Thank you," he said. They sat beside each other for several long minutes in silence.

"I should go," Obsidian said. She rose from the bed, but stayed by it. She continued watching him.

"The door is just over there," Loghain said.

Obsidian gave a slight smile. "It is," she said. She continued looking at him, with a peculiar expression. "But I am finding that I do not want to spend what may be one of the last nights of my life alone."

Loghain met her gaze with his own. She was a fierce warrior, with a shrewd mind, and a silver tongue. She was the one responsible for getting them this far, and might well be the one to end the Blight. She was also less than half his age, and of a people that were not his own.

She cocked her head in the manner she did when thinking, then reached out and took his hand. "We will both likely be dead within the month. What we do here tonight is of no importance to anyone save ourselves. I would like that if you die, that I have this memory of you. And that if I die, that I have spent one of my last nights in your arms, rather than alone in my bed." She leaned down to kiss him. Her lips were warm and soft, her scent as inviting as that of freshly tilled earth.

"This is a foolish thing to do," Loghain said, after she broke the kiss. But even he could not determine a course of action that would be wiser. When she leaned down again to take his head in her hands and kiss him a second time, he found that he'd lost any will to resist.

He pulled her to him, so that she was straddling his lap, her hands wrapped about his head, pulling him to her to deepen their kiss. His hands slid down the sides of her body, touching the soft curves of her breasts and hips. She slid a hand under his tunic, caressing the planes of his chest, threading through the hair.

"You have less hair than a dwarf," Obsidian said, breaking the kiss to tug at his shirt with both hands.

Loghain found himself chuckling, as he helped her slide the tunic off. If he was to do this, he might as well do it properly. "Any other comparisons?"

Obsidian sat back and looked at him. "Well, you're taller for one. And too thin. Even the casteless have more meat on their bones."

Loghain ran a hand over the side of her body. Obsidian certainly had ample amounts of flesh, but she was well constructed. Her body was generous rather than superfluous. Despite her small size, she was stronger than he, with a body type that seemed utterly suited to her purpose as a warrior. He respected that. He had no use for things that were frivolous. He bent to kiss her neck, enjoying her taste. She reminded him of the earth, with a musk that suggested things homey and hidden.

He let Obsidian push him back into the covers of the bed, before pulling her to him to kiss her on the lips, neck, and breast. She made a small sound in the back of her throat that brought him a certain degree of pleasure. Her nightdress was hiked about her thighs as she straddled him, her body a warm, solid weight on his chest. She leaned down to unlace his breeches, her hands moving over him in a way that was more familiar than foreign. Her touch recalled memories of other times. Of returning to Gwaren after long military campaigns. Of the touch of a woman who had loved him, of family and hearth and home.

He pushed her to their side, so that he could see her face. He did not wish to be alone tonight, either, and desired her company more than the pleasure of her body. He felt himself smile when she ran a small hand over his stomach.

"Was I doing something wrong?" she asked, her brow creased.

Loghain drew her into an embrace and kissed her. "No," he said. "Tell me what you want."

Obsidian shifted so that she could remove her gown. "To be at peace. To have the arch-demon dead. For all darkspawn to die and leave Orzammar alone forever and ever." She pulled him to her. "For now, I'll settle for a warm bed."

She took one of his hands in hers, and moved it between her thighs. Loghain let the hand linger, brushing against the flesh and watching her reactions in the dim light. She was not so different from a human woman, he though. The curls of her sex with damp with moisture, and she whimpered slightly as he brushed his fingers along the folds of her flesh, gasping when he let one sink into her.

She rocked against his hand, her face clenched in pleasure as he thrust in and out, adding a second finger as she grew warmer. A series of convulsions let him know when she had finished, and he waited for her breath to slow before he shifted and pressed against her.

Her face tightened as he did so. "Slowly," she breathed. "Dwarfs are shaped differently."

Using what restraint he could summon, Loghain slid slowly into her, waiting for her to move before he continued. Her body slid against his with a satisfying friction, and she reached up to his shoulders to pull him to her. He gripped her full hips in his hands as he pulled her to body closer to his, using her solid weight as an anchor. She met his movements, moving her own body in time with his, and biting against his chest as they moved together.

Her movements sped as he let a hand drift to her groin, stroking it as she whimpered. He felt her stiffen in his arms, and allowed himself to lose that last bit of control. He thrust quickly a few last times, before pushing one last, satisfying time into her warmth.

They stayed together for a long time like that, with Obsidian held in his arms, her face pressed against his chest. Eventually he felt her shift against him.

"Thank you for that," she said, her small hands stroking his chest. "I appreciate you letting me be with you tonight."

He smiled, and moved a hand to tousle her hair. Come what may in the next month, he was glad to not be alone this evening. It was one thing they had in common. One thing their people could share.


	2. A Surpassing Sweetness  Alistair Anora

**A Surpassing Sweetness of Ecstasy**

_This story comes with a game. It's called, "Figure out what Mutive is plagurizing!" All three of the bits of religious poetry were slightly rewritten from actual religious Judeo-Christian texts. Try to figure out what all three are from (like, if it's the Bible, which book, and if it's not the Bible, who wrote it)! The first one to guess all three gets a prize. Not a good one (I'll do a kmeme fill for you or something equally useless), but, hey, it's something, right?_

Anora lay back on the bed, hoping that her new husband would just get it over with. There was something more than a bit undignified about being expected to become a brood mare for yet another unprepared prince, but she supposed that she would make the best of it, as she'd never shirked a duty in her life, and had no desire to start now.

However, rather than a rough hand grabbing at her hips or breast, she felt a tentative touch on her wrist. She sat up as he pulled at her, and found herself looking into a pair of dark golden eyes.

"I thought I told you to just get it over with," she said. She had no desire for this to take longer than absolutely necessary.

His eyes were sad as he gazed at her. "I wanted to make you happy," he said.

The foolish sentiments of virgins. "You'd make me happy by giving me an heir," Anora said. Not that she knew that this was even possible, between the taint in him and her advancing age. But it was her duty to try.

"I'll do my best," Alistair said. He was still looking at her with those limpid eyes. "But can't you at least try to enjoy the process?"

"Alistair," Anora said, turning away. There was no polite way to express how she felt. She lacked the desire to feign enthusiasm as he fumbled at her. She found it distasteful to play the same games she had with Cailan; in telling him how much she adored him, just to watch him demand the same treatment from every other woman he stumbled across. She had consented to do her best to bare him a child. She did not have the ability to give him more. At last she said, "I don't think I can. And what's the point? I can conceive whether I enjoy myself or not."

Alistair took her hand, and held it. His skin was rough and calloused and his grip strong. But the hand was as warm as his amber eyes. "I want you to enjoy it," he said. He seemed to think for a minute, before he smiled. "The Maker does, too."

Anora chuckled. If there was a Maker, he surely had better things to worry about than whether she enjoyed her marital relations. She was about to point this out when Alistair started speaking again.

"The Maker shall meet his people/Like a bridegroom rejoicing in his bride/He shall kiss with the kisses of his mouth/for her lips are sweeter than wine," Alistair said. He seemed to be thinking rather hard about the words, as though remembering a lesson he'd nearly forgotten.

"Very good, Alistair," Anora said. So he'd been raised in the Chantry and could quote bits of the Chant of Light. No matter. "But those lines refer to the Maker returning to the earth if the Chant is sung from all four corners of the world. Not to an actual, physical bridegroom and bride."

Alistair leaned into her, and pressed his lips to hers. He demanded no more from her, and withdrew when she did not respond. He seemed disappointed, but after a second no longer seemed to care. If she were lucky, he'd accept the way things were to be and just get on with it.

He did not. "I dunno," Alistair said. "I kind of like the more literal explanation." He stroked her hand, and she had to admit that the touch felt good against her skin, even if she thought it was foolish of him to go to so much pointless effort.

"It's still a misinterpretation," she said. Although she didn't pull her hand from his.

"There's also, 'He touched me with his golden fire/And I burned with love for the Maker/With pain so great it seemed a fire/A surpassing sweetness of ecstasy.'" Alistair looked at her with pleading eyes. "Surely that wouldn't be in the Chant of Light if the Maker didn't want us to be as happy together as he made Andraste."

Anora shook her head, although she found herself smiling. More than a few literary critiques had likened the ecstasy of Andraste to that of an orgasm, and up until now, she had shared their cynicism. "It was a spiritual touch," she said, although the way Alistair was running his hand over hers distracted her from her words. "It's not supposed to be compared to things on this earthly plane."

"Well, what about, 'I would bring you into my house/Oh you who would instruct me/And cause me to drink the dearest wine/I lap the juices of your sweetest apple'." He winked at her. "Don't tell me that this means anything other than what I think it does."

Anora found herself laughing, despite that she knew she shouldn't. She had wondered a bit at those lines in the Chant of Light, and had always ascribed them to the fact that chantry sisters were, well, female. But still, it was her job to take this seriously and not let Alistair distract her. "I don't think that this means that we have to, you know, do that."

He smiled at that, before quickly looking away and flushing. Despite his expression, his hand never left hers. "Maybe we don't have to get to that quite yet," he said. He blushed even brighter and mumbled, "although I might like to try." It took him a few seconds before he could meet her eyes again. "But I do want to try to make you happy. Why won't you let me?"

So many reasons. That she didn't think she could learn to love again, and even if she could, did not dare risk another broken heart. But as she did not want to argue she said, "It's so much more efficient to just get this all done quickly."

Alistair's face fell, and he gazed at the coverlet for a long moment before he said, "What if we make a deal. You try it my way once?" There was an eagerness to his face that made him hard to deny. "You show me what I need to do to make you happy. And if you don't like it, we'll do it your way."

He raised her hand to his mouth and kissed it. His lips were warm. And while he did nothing other than hold her fingers to his mouth, Anora felt a flush run through her at the touch. "You'll only have to tolerate me making a fool of myself this once." He looked at her again, his golden eyes meeting hers. "Please?"

She supposed that she could do this, as a kind of wedding gift to him, despite that she ought to know better. She leaned in, and answered his question by kissing him full on the lips. His mouth opened under hers, and he responded if not skillfully, at least with enthusiasm. She pulled away.

"Try to follow what I do," she said, before kissing him again. This time he matched her movements, and slowed to meet her. When she pulled away this time, she was breathing heavily.

"I told you I could learn," Alistair said. The playful smile on his lips was reflected in his eyes.

Anora allowed herself to return the expression. "Don't get too cocky yet," she said, taking one of his hands in hers. "The lesson has only just begun."

Alistair's smile at her words lit up his face, and something about his joy was infectious. "What do you want me to do?" he asked.

That was the question. Anora had never expected to have to teach someone how to have sex, so was quite unprepared for this lesson. "A few pointers," she said, partially to buy time, but also in that it seemed like having general rules might be a good way to begin. "Start gently. If I seem to enjoy it you can apply more pressure. Otherwise, you'll risk hurting me." Alistair was watching her with a rapt expression, so she decided to continue along this vein. "Also, watch how I react to what you do. If I like it, continue it. If I don't, try something else."

He seemed to be concentrating so hard that she was half surprised that he wasn't taking notes. "What if I do something wrong?" he asked. He sounded quite nervous, and Anora found it peculiarly refreshing. It was rather enjoyable to be the experienced one, this time.

"I'll let you know if you do something I dislike," she said. She'd never had any trouble voicing an opinion. "Or if you do something that hurts." But it might be best if she didn't give him the opportunity to do much of either. "And I'll take control. This time, at least."

Alistair nodded again, and Anora decided that they might as well start, before she lost her nerve. She leaned into him again, and kissed him, parting his lips with her tongue, and letting her body curve into his. He responded, but did not move his arms, so she reached over and took each of his hands, setting them where she wanted them on the small of her back. When she broke the kiss, she leaned over to whisper to him, "You can touch me, you know."

Anora tried to suppress a giggle in the crook of Alistair's neck as he slid his hands over her back and whispered, "I can?"

Now that she had decided to give into his request, it was not so hard to play along. "Yes, you can," she whispered into his ear, nibbling at it as she moved away and kissed him again on the mouth. "In fact, I'd prefer that you did."

"Oh, good," he said, when she broke the kiss. She thought that it must have been far too soon for Alistair, because a second later, he pressed her close to him, and claimed her lips again. She let him, although after a few seconds withdrew. "Did I do something wrong?" he asked.

Not really, she thought. It was just that she'd never been one for endless kissing and cuddling. "I prefer variation," she said. And to hurry this up, she began undoing the toggles of Alistair's doublet, revealing a well fashioned chest beneath the rich fabric. She had known that he was a warrior, yet still, the masculine beauty of his torso made her lose her train of thought for just a second. She ran her hands inside the cloth before he took her hands and pushed them away.

"You're going to get me too excited," he said. His mouth curved in a smile that was matched by his eyes. Somehow, though, Anora doubted that he was the one who was becoming too excited, for she was already having trouble remembering exactly what it was she was supposed to be doing. "Is there anything I can do for you?" he asked. She could see that his eyes drifted below her neck, eyeing her figure through the heavy layers of clothing she wore.

"Perhaps," she said, returning his smile, and almost feeling herself blush at his examination. "But you're going to have to get me out of this dress, first."

She could have sworn that Alistair's eyes sparkled as he began to undo her corset and, once that was free, began to remove her gown one clasp at a time, while kissing the skin beneath it.

Anora had thought that he would stop, once he'd unbuttoned enough to get the dress off her body. But instead, Alistair continued kissing down her stomach even after the gown lay crumpled on the floor. Somehow, she had thought him so naïve, that she barely figured out what he was intending before he had nearly started.

"How did you know-?" she asked, before the movement of his fingers against her removed the thought from her mind.

Alistair raised his head. "Some of the other men…"

He didn't need to say any more. Anora knew that this was a common enough practice, even if she'd only tolerated it a few times before deciding that it was not to her taste. She started to sit up, in order to explain this.

"Am I doing something wrong?" Alistair asked. He seemed puzzled more than much else.

"No," Anora said. She didn't know how to explain this, really. "I just don't like that."

Alistair looked at her peculiarly. "You seemed to be enjoying it," he said. As though he knew what she liked better than she did.

"It's not something I normally like," she said. While it wasn't exactly unpleasant, she found it uncomfortable to lie back and pretend to enjoy something that she did not particularly care for.

Alistair nodded and seemed to think before saying, "Perhaps you've just never had it done well."

Peculiarly enough, that possibility had never occurred to Anora. Cailan had always seemed so confident that she had assumed that something was wrong with her, rather than his technique. "I suppose…" she said.

Alistair's eyes lit up. "What if I try," he said. "And if you like it, I'll keep it up. And if you don't, you can tell me what you'd rather have me do."

It seemed like a fair bargain, and it was his first time, so she supposed she could be generous. "Okay," Anora said, hoping that she wouldn't regret this decision as she leaned back into the bedding.

Whatever he was doing was not perfect, but it was good enough to make her aggravated that he wasn't quite hitting the right spots. She eventually pushed him away, and decided to take matters into her own hands, so to speak. She caught his hand in hers, and spread her legs.

"You said that you wanted to learn," she said, looking him straight in the eye. "This is what you need to do." She pointed out a few places that had always been particularly sensitive and said, "You should touch here and there. Not so gently, either. I won't break."

She thought he smiled as he reached for her again, placing his hands and mouth exactly where she had indicated. It did not take long for her to find herself writhing on the bed and biting down on her hand to keep from waking the entire palace.

She had to push him away, after a time. It had become too intense, and she had reached her culmination more than once. It took her a few seconds after doing so to become coherent enough again to realize that he was watching her expectantly. He had the same look on his face that her mabari did when she begged for table scraps.

"You did very well," she said. Her father had always told her that people responded best to praise. She leaned over to kiss him, savoring the scent of herself on his lips, before she realized that their marriage was still not yet consummated, and that Alistair was wearing most of his clothing. But these were problems easily solved. Anora pulled his doublet off his body, and began unlacing his breeches. He helped her with the last task, standing to pull them from his body, although he turned away from her as he slid them off his long, muscled legs.

"Turn around," she said. There was something endearing about his shyness. He did, although he held his hands over his groin, not doing a particularly good job at shielding himself from her. The sight made Anora smile. There was something appealing about the knowledge that pleasing her had appealed to him to this degree.

"Lie down on the bed," she said. This would be easiest if she took control. He did so, and reached for a blanket. She pushed his hand away – he was going to have to become used to being naked around her - and straddled his body, his stomach warm between her thighs. He looked strangely vulnerable, lying there beneath her, so she kissed him, and heard him groan as she leaned into him.

Anora shifted to reach for him, just to feel his hips begin to buck against her hand. She gripped him and tried to guide him into her as she felt his hips speed a second before a warm, wet liquid spilled over her hand. She rose, and moved towards her wash basin, cleaning her hand then bringing a damp rag over to her new husband. She handed it to him, and he sat up and hunched away from her as he washed himself.

"I'm sorry," he said. She thought she heard a quaver in his voice.

"About what?" she asked. It was embarrassing true but, "We can try again soon enough." Besides, it was not as though she'd been ignored this entire time, even if what he had done would not give her an heir.

Alistair continued to sit there, his back turned towards her. She thought he seemed upset, so in the interest of her duties to the kingdom, she sat behind him and put a hand on his shoulder. "I'd very much like to try again?" she said, hoping that her words were convincing. She relaxed when Alistair laid a hand on hers and turned to her.

"I'd never tell a beautiful woman no," Alistair said. He slid his hands down her sides and leaned in to kiss her. Anora returned the kiss, and broke it only so that she could push him to the bed. She would take no chances this time.

It did not take very long. He was young and healthy, and she prided herself on a certain degree of skill. It was not long before she was able to guide him into her, and actually gasped aloud at the sensation.

His hands reached around to grasp her hips, and she let him, bracing her hands against his chest and rocking against him. There was something pleasing about how happy he looked. She couldn't remember a time when Cailan had looked so excited, just to be in bed with her. She leaned over to kiss Alistair's neck and whispered into his ear, "I told you this would work."

He shifted so that he could kiss her on the lips, drawing her body to his with clumsy, calloused hands. His body quaked beneath hers, and she broke the kiss with a gasp.

"Did I do something wrong?" he asked, stopping for a second.

She shook her head. No, what he'd done was nearly perfect. She could already feel tension building in her, and decided that it was time for a last lesson. She took his hand in hers, and moved it to her groin, moving his hand in slow circles before letting Alistair figure it out himself.

He did, and continued the motion as she moved above him, whimpering one last time before relaxing to his chest. He continued to tremble, clasping her to himself before he slowed and stilled.

He held her there for a long time, as her heart relaxed and returned to its normal tempo.

"Thank you," he said at last kissing her on the forehead before she rolled off him to settle into bed.

"Of course," she said. She had agreed, after all. And could not say that what he had asked had proven unpleasant.

"Can we do it again?" Alistair asked. "I mean, not now, but some other time?" He sounded nervous, as if truly thought that she would deny him.

But Anora didn't want to admit that quite yet, so instead she turned to him and said, "I think you still have a lot to learn." It was hard to keep from giggling at how his face fell when she said that. It seemed that he actually believed her jest. Anora quickly continued with, "So of course, we'll just have to keep this up until you've completely mastered the lesson."

Alistair laughed at her words, and the laughter was contagious enough that she found herself chuckling too. His arm reached around her, holding her to him, and she let him cradle her body next to his as they talked and shared stories until late in the night.


	3. Wash Day   Cullen Goldanna

**Wash Day**

_For Nithu, who for whatever reason wanted Cullen and Goldanna in exchange for being a Google-Fu expert. I must admit that it sounds like a fascinating challenge. ;)_

Cullen saw her standing by the fountain at the edge of town, washing her clothing. Her strong arms dipped in and out of the water, her calloused hands dragging sopping clothing from bucket to bucket, beating out the dirt in between. There was something so simple and yet so pure in that. He liked the idea that stains could be washed away with little more than water and lye.

He'd asked her if he could help her carry the load home. On the way to the fountain, the clothing did not seem so heavy. But laden with water, he imagined that it strained her small waist, her delicate frame. She smiled and accepted so he hefted a basket in his arms. It was near as heavy as his templar armor had been, and he wondered how such a slender thing as her managed it.

She smiled when he set the basket down by her home, so that she could begin hanging the garments to dry in the sweet, spring air. And when he asked her for her name, she gave it to him with a smile. "It's Goldanna," she said. "Goldanna. Like the flower."

He thought she was like the bloom. Pretty and simple, without much complication. It was a nice change from the exotic, treacherous beauties of the tower. He left her with a smile, vowing to return on the next wash day to help her again if she needed it.

DA:O

"It is good to have a man around," Goldanna said. After the third time he had helped her, she had invited him in for tea. It was not much, she had said. But he appreciated the chance to pass an hour with someone other than the men in the local guard.

"It's good to be in polite company," Cullen said. It was. He'd missed having children running about. He'd been forced to give that up, to become a templar. And it had been hard. Harder than the celibacy had been, really. There'd only been one woman who'd made him regret that he could never partake of the pleasures of the flesh, while there were so many lonely nights where he thought about how he'd been raised and wished that he could have a life like that. A simple house, a warm bed, the smile of a child. He told himself that his job was to make the world safe for all of the children. But he couldn't help but yearn for children of his own to protect.

"You think this is polite?" Goldanna said. Her words had a way of challenging him. He'd already learned that she would not sit quietly and agree with everything he might say. He liked that about her. It was a nice change from silky voices and women who hoped to persuade him with their charms to let them out of the tower, let them into his mind, force him to think of them and desire.

"It's normal," Cullen said, taking a drink of the tea. The mug was chipped, but that only made it feel more real. The small house he'd grown up in had had mugs like these. He remembered it only in vague feelings and images. Like most templar candidates, he'd been given to the Chantry when he was still very young. He was one too many mouths to feed, and his father had thought it better to give Cullen to the Chantry than to leave the youngest to die of exposure. He hadn't minded the Chantry – not really. It gave him place and purpose, a purpose that was renewed after the Circle was overcome by the blood mages. But this being in town was a nice change. It was normal. After everything that had happened, Cullen liked normal.

Goldanna shook her head, and he thought she was about to throw him out, but instead she only tisked at him. "I suppose if you're willing to trade an afternoon's work for a cup of tea, I'd be the last one to tell you no," she said.

He'd do more than carry her laundry, he thought, if she would accept it. But he wasn't sure, so he decided not to offer.

DA:O

"You just keep coming," Goldanna said. He had. Her presence was a balm of sorts, so he sought her out each wash day. Besides, he thought that she liked him helping her, and it was easy to do so. He would prefer to carry her washing than to spend his afternoon off alone, sitting and doing nothing in his small, cold apartment.

"I do," Cullen said, hoisting the heavy load in his arms. It was less uncomfortable with practice. He thought he was becoming accustomed to the loads, to the sound of her voice, even to her children playing. There no longer seemed something miraculous about it. It was merely her life, difficult at times, pleasant at others, but mostly mundane.

Goldanna looked at him curiously. "You've never asked anything of me," she said.

"It's not like that," Cullen said. She was a lovely woman, but he had abandoned any hope of that long ago, when he had taken his vows. He may have left the tower – and done horrible things in the process of leaving – but he was not such a different person than he had been when he was a templar. And even if he were, he did not expect to be able to walk into someone else's life and have a place there, just because he was willing to carry a load of laundry from time to time.

"What is it, then?" Goldanna asked. Her tone demanded an answer.

"I like you," Cullen said. He looked down at her. Her pretty face seemed confused by the answer, as though he couldn't like being around a woman without demanding more. "I like being around you. I don't expect more."

Goldanna shook her head at this, as though he'd said something ridiculous. But she continued to walk beside him until they were nearly back to her house before she said, "Maybe you should."

DA:O

The words tormented Cullen, and he missed the next wash day as he was not sure he could stand to be around her, after that. He had never asked anything of Goldanna, other than those occasional smiles she gave, or the sight of her face lighting up when he did something especially useful. Did she think that he was only helping her so that he could get her...favors? The idea sickened Cullen. He had never demanded something like that from any woman, had never been so much as touched anywhere other than the arm. The closest he had come to something _sinful_ was a brief infatuation with a mage that had only led to disaster when she had spared the lives of abominations and freed the Circle to work its forbidden magic without Chantry guidance. And even that infernal relationship had never been physical. And would not have been, Cullen thought, even if she had wanted it to be. He kept his vows.

During the long hours of his watch, Cullen puzzled over why Goldanna might have thought that he might demand something of her. Was it normal for men to spend time with women only when they...wanted something? As he thought more about the conversation, he wondered whether it was not that men demanded more, but that women did. The thought upset him to such a degree that he was not sure he could see her again. He was good and chaste and pure. He refused to give into temptation. He had resisted the desire demon who had worn Neria's face for weeks during his imprisonment. He would not give in to lust now for the sake of a mere washer woman.

DA:O

It was late when she came for him. Not Goldanna, but her oldest daughter, Rosa. She'd arrived late at night, knocking on the door as though a demon were after her.

"You're the man who helps Ma with the washing, right?" Rosa asked, smoothing her skirts as if she had only just realized how inappropriate it was for a young maiden to be running about outside in the middle of the night.

"Yes," Cullen said. A sudden fear seized his heart. This girl would not be here if it was not for something important. "What is it?"

"Derick, my youngest brother, is very ill," Rosa said. "Ma has been up all night, worrying and crying. But she can't afford to call the doctor. I'm afraid he might die. And I couldn't think of anything that might help. Until I thought of you, and thought that maybe you could do something."

Cullen wouldn't let a child die. But he didn't know that he could do much to help her, either. He knew nothing about either healing or children. He considered possibilities for a long minute before he realized that he had some money left over from his salary as a guard. He could give it to Rosa, he thought. He could afford to eat less, or live off of the stew that was given to the guards free of charge, until he was paid again. It might help, even if he could not. He took the pouch from his belt. "Use this to get a doctor," he said, placing the small bag in her hands. She thanked him before running out the door, pulling her shawl tight about her shoulders. It was only after she'd turned the corner that he thought that he should have gone with her, to protect her from whoever might want to hurt a young girl so late at night. But before he could call after her, she had vanished. He hoped nothing happened to her and that he was right in his suspicion that the money might do some good.

DA:O

He arrived at home after work a few days later to find that Goldanna was waiting for him by his door.

"I wanted to thank you for what you did," she said, following him indoors. "The doctor...he wasn't sure Derry would have made it much longer without some kind of medicine."

"Is he well?" Cullen asked. Whether what he had done had helped or not didn't really matter, just as long as the child lived.

Goldanna nodded. "He survived the night. With the Maker's grace," she said.

If that was so, then living on porridge and beans for a few days was well worth it.

"Would you like a cup of tea?" Cullen asked. It seemed polite to offer her something.

Goldanna nodded and sat in silence as he boiled the water. Once it was ready, he set the glass before her in a cracked mug and sat across from her. He watched her take the mug in her strong hands, and his eyes traced over the bones of her wrists as she held the tea to her lips and took a sip.

She must have noticed how he was watching her, for she said, "It didn't cost all the money to call the doctor," she said. She handed him his pouch. He looked inside. Most of the money was still there. It had cost so little to save the life of a child.

"Thank you," he said. "You could have kept it."

Her calloused hands grasped her mug, her strong arms holding it tight. "I won't be beholden to you. I'll pay it back, when I can."

Cullen looked at her with new eyes. She was thin, but it was not just a natural slenderness. He thought that she must eat far less well than he did. Even in the hardest times, there had always been food in the Chantry. And the guards fed him well enough, even without his additional pay to supplement his diet. "You don't need to," he said. "It was a gift. Freely given." He handed the pouch back to her. "Keep it. Just in case you need it again."

She looked at the money for a long minute before taking it. "I suppose in my position, I can't afford to be prideful," she said. She turned the pouch over in her hands for a long minute before she set a hand on his forearm, just above the wrist. "I want to do something to repay you for your kindness."

Cullen laid his hand on his. It was warmed from the tea. "Y-you can offer me a cup of tea the n-next time I carry your wash," he said. He didn't know that he could take this. He had never wanted this of her, and she ought to know that.

"I want to do more than that," Goldanna said. She leaned over the table, and brushed her lips against his. They were soft and warm and it took every bit of his will power to push her away.

She sat across from him, her eyes stricken. "Why do you refuse letting me give you the one thing I have to offer?" she asked. He had never seen her face so sad, and wanted to reach out to comfort her. He stayed himself by remembering his training, even though he knew that pretty, ordinary Goldanna could not be a desire demon.

"It's not that simple," Cullen said. He did not know how much he could tell her. The Chantry was still looking for him over what he had done in the tower. And even if she would not turn him in, she would hate him if she knew. Even now, he could see the blood on his hands, and hear Keili's screaming. He hadn't meant to do it, not really. No after he had realized that the apprentices were not possessed.

"Why isn't it?" Goldanna asked. She seemed cross, but he was relieved to see that it was in her usual way. "You're a man. I'm a woman. I've seen the way you look at me."

He had, when he had thought she wouldn't notice. When he could not force himself to tear his eyes away. Sometimes, late in the night, he even imagined what it would like to be to be married to her. To feel her soft and warm in his arms late at night. To feel her lips on his, her hair brushing over his chest. In the darkest nights, sometimes he even allowed himself to think of _sinful _things.

"I was Chantry raised," Cullen said. Enough were that she was unlikely to think of him as the mad templar just from that statement. "I can't do that to a woman."

"Enough do," Goldanna said. "Even templars, I hear. There are rumors that some used to treat the Tower like their own private harem."

"It wasn't like that," Cullen said. It hadn't been. He never had, never would have...but then he thought of what Carol gossiped about late at night, and wondered if every templar had been as pure. But then he thought he might have said too much so he said, "I-I'm sure most are good and righteous men."

"They're still men," Goldanna said.

She would not win this one. "Men can rise above their baser instincts," Cullen said. Even if at times he wished he did not have to. 

Goldanna tossed her head. She had finished her tea. "Well, if you change your mind, let me know," she said. "I do like having a man around, and you're better than most."

DA:O

Cullen had thought that it would be easy to ignore Goldanna. It was not. He found himself missing the most foolish things. It was not just her conversation or the way she smiled, but also how having her children around made her feel as though he was part of something greater than himself, the way the Chantry had at its best. He missed the clean scent of laundry as he helped her to hang it. He missed the way she brewed tea, and how his never tasted the same, no matter what he did.

He wanted to have her back in his life, even if he wondered how he could do it with honor. He did not want to see her, if she would proposition him again, touch him again, make him be lustful. And he did not know he could resist her a second time. At times he wondered why he wanted to.

DA:O

After a month, he visited her house on his day off, dressed in his best shirt and breeches. Cullen knew little about how such things were done, but he wished to look presentable, at least. He paused by the door before knocking it. Rosa opened it, and led him in to see Goldanna.

"You've decided to return, have you?" Goldanna asked. Her voice was sharp, and he wondered if he had made a mistake in coming back.

"I-I wanted t-to ask you something," Cullen said. He drew in a deep breath, and decided that it was now or never. He knelt before her and took her hand. "I-I was w-wondering if you would m-marry me," he said. He waited for a second, and when she said nothing continued with, "I-I like you. And your children. A-and you said it would be good to have a man around. I was t-thinking I could be that man." It was the only way he could conceive of for them to be together without dishonor.

He dared to look up at her face. She seemed surprised. Astonished, even. "You don't have to marry me," she said. Her eyes were sad. "I'd do what you wanted, without that."

"I want to," Cullen said. "I want to be in your life, in your family. I don't just want to u-use you." He desperately hoped that she felt the same. If she only wanted him for immoral reasons, it was tarnish the good memories he had of her.

She stood and pulled him to his feet, before taking his face in her hands. "If you want to, despite that all you'll be getting is a washer woman with five mouths to feed, I won't refuse you," she said.

"I do," Cullen said, before letting her pull him down into a kiss.

_I've been rather remiss in thanking reviewers who go through all of these strange stories, but thank you! Despite that these are generally kink meme fills (and therefore less polished than some of my other pieces), I do love reviews. And concrit, for all that! So if you have an opinion, feel free to share it. I love hearing it, whatever it is._


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